


And what if I can't help but change?

by DeepSeaViolet



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Time Skip, Probably ooc, Rated because they'll prolly fuck, Slow Burn, Smut, Sparring, Spoilers for Lysithea and Hanneman's A support, at some point, i think, in that order, of course
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 00:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21364828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeepSeaViolet/pseuds/DeepSeaViolet
Summary: In which Lysithea copes with gifted kid burnout depression but in a fire emblem kinda way. And Claude copes with his plans being wrong. And also they fall for each other big time.
Relationships: Lysithea von Ordelia/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	And what if I can't help but change?

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this 1st one with no planning for how the rest of it will go, but ya know. It'll be fine. Story switches POVs but is also kinda always 3rd person omniscient. Significant amount of background info in the Claude part that's mostly skippable if that's not your thing. More updates soon hopefully. Cheers

1\. Somewhere in Almyra

Of all the foes to have, a plush tan armchair was surely below her. She had accomplished many things against the odds of comfort and distraction. Yet, it threatened to envelop her, and she fretted that it would plunge her into sleep. Fretted! How unlike her.

“I’m sure these people have never had a single original thought in their lives. I’d put my life on it. Bastards...”

Lysithea raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her wine. Gronder white, a sharp and singular flavor. It was at a perfect temperature too, just cool enough to be refreshing. Claude was saying more words. 

“...against my policy as if it’s not obvious,” He paused, squinting in her direction. Discomfort followed. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine. Just tired I suppose.” Lysithea spoke with the same speed and intent as usual, but she knew he could tell there was something wrong. The idiot kept peering at her like she had grown another head. The best course of action was clearly to act like nothing happened. “You were saying? Lack of thinking?”

“Yeah, you know it’s honestly unimportant. Apologies if I’m asking too much, but ‘tired?’ I don’t think I’ve ever heard of you being tired. There were even days where I would have to make you leave the libra-”

“Don’t remind me, Claude,” She retorted, effectively silencing him. He raised his hands in a very  _ alright, my bad, please don’t burn me to a crisp  _ way, and for a second she was dumbfounded. In the silence that followed, she realized that they were on completely different wavelengths. And she didn’t feel like changing that. Not right now.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed,” she declared, rising to her feet.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Claude said, his face now a perfect mask of neutrality. “Hope your work is less tiring tomorrow.”

His words chased her out of the sitting room. A flight of stairs and half a corridor later, her half-empty wine glass popped into her conscience. Oh well, he could finish it. Everything would have been fine if he wasn’t so perceptive. Had she always been able to admit that? Had she always felt regret for snapping at him, or anyone else?

It wasn’t even regret. Worse, she didn’t know what it was at all.

* * *

Claude had always been prepared for the amount of work to be done after the war’s end. He’d basically been preparing himself for it his whole life. However, in all honesty, nothing could have prepared him for what actually happened.

Everything seemed to be working out fine in the beginning. Then Teach disappeared, leaving a note asking Seteth to dismantle the church. And then Claude was crowned king of Almyra. And then Hanneman discovered how to implant (and remove) crests.

Now it was all complicated. The remaining nobles were barely staying civil while “sharing” leadership of fódlan in his absence. The ever-present pain in the ass of the Western Church was becoming even more of a pain in the ass while the central church was shut down. People without crests were trying to get them implanted, people with crests were trying to get them removed, and the most popular opera about the war was  _ severely _ mischaracterizing almost everyone involved. How could he have ever been prepared?

Now he spent half his time flying  _ wherever _ to convince  _ whoever _ to calm down in a political way, and the other half in the palace trying to be a good king for a people who had always considered him an outsider. The worst part was that he never had time to see his friends. Teach was gone, and everyone else was just as busy as him. At least Nader was available, but they often had to talk politics. It was simultaneously exhausting and frustrating. All the time. With no end in sight.

A few months ago, he had received a letter from Lysithea, asking if she could use the royal laboratories to conduct crest research. When she arrived, she explained that Hanneman had removed her second crest, and that meant that she had to honor her promise to pursue crestology.

And after thinking over all of these events, he felt a flash of anger. Of anyone alive right now, she had the most reason to be happy. She had a full life to look forward to doing the science-type business she always had loved. He had given her one of the finest guest rooms in the palace, and, most importantly, she had no political obligations to anyone whatsoever. And yes, this reasoning entirely ignored whatever was going on in her head. And yes, there was probably a lot to think about when gaining 60-ish more years to live. Still, a man could be frustrated and jealous. Not openly, of course, but-

“Your majesty?” A reedy voice called, and Claude nearly choked on his own saliva. Suddenly aware of how much time had passed, he shot to his feet and drained Lysithea’s half-full glass of wine. Just one more interaction.

“You know Claude is fine. Have a good night Marcus, and don’t you worry about me,” He said, mask intact. Marcus was all height and limbs, dark skin glowing by the warm torchlight. He was sort of the Dedue to Claude’s Dimitri, which wasn’t something Claude had ever wanted. He had been trying to break down Marcus’ rigid ideas about hierarchy for months.

“That is literally my job, but I understand your point. Sleep well, Claude,” Marcus conceded. Claude raised a hand in farewell and exited the room. He took deep breaths to try and slow the racing thoughts, achieving marginal success.

A deep sigh left his lips and filled his bedchamber. He knew there was no reason to expect Lysithea to be happy, and he knew that projecting his frustrations onto her was an awful idea. After all, she was one of three friends, and the only one who would listen to his political misery without joining in. And he would listen to her progress in the lab and help her adjust to Almyra. It was a good routine. For the first time today, he felt it slipping.


End file.
